Choke or RonthePekineseBoy by Howl, beta Alex
by Howlcastle
Summary: A behind the scenes from the chapter 'Birthday Surprises' in which Ron is poisoned. From Ron's point of view, of course. Enjoy!


_Hi. This is my first attempt at writing, so please be gentle with me, (esp as I'm one of the few blokes around here)! Reviews appreciated, and truths respected._

_Thanks to JK for all her fine work...None of us would be on this site without it. ;)_

The overwhelming feeling of passion was vanishing, as was the smile on his face. He could feel it slipping off his chin leaving an open grimace in it's wake. Yet he still felt more or less the same way. The ache in his heart was still there. But it was for someone else.

He'd never felt worse and more humiliated in his life.

He slumped into the empty chair in Slughorn's quarters, ignoring the banter between him and Harry. He glanced up briefly in reply to Harry's acknowledgment of his condition and noticed that Harry's right ear was flushed and a bit swollen. And then it all came back to him in a rush. He'd punched Harry, he'd been rude to Lavender, and he'd been off to woo Romilda Vane – he hardly even knew who she was! He'd been so eager to please this person that he'd been tripping over his own feet in excitement. Worst of all, he'd told Harry the secret things inside him that were reserved for someone else.

He felt totally disgusted with himself.

For once she hadn't seen him make an arse of himself at least, he thought. Though he could just imagine the glint in her eyes as she lectured him about what Mad Eye Moody would say about eating foodstuffs that had been found on the floor. He groaned inwardly, wondering vaguely if he'd ever grow out of being such an idiot.

He clutched numbly at the drink Slughorn handed to him. He didn't even register what the beverage was before throwing it down his throat. He could hear Slughorn making some sort of commiserating toast, but ignored him. He felt like he was drowning in depression. In his own stupidity. In his own heartache.

It was something more than that, though. He felt like he was being smothered by his own body. He heard the smash of the glass and knew that it was no longer in his hand. He tried to stand up and put his head above the fogginess that was now enveloping him, but his body only half complied. He managed to stand stiffly with his knees bent and shoulders hunched, before caving in on itself and returning him abruptly to the seat beneath him.

His eyes were misting over and he couldn't see anything. He could hear Harry yelling, but his voice seemed slow and far away. His eyes were exerting a lot of pressure on his skull and he could feel something dripping from his mouth. His whole throat felt as if it were closing in, robbing him of breath. His hands grasped unseeingly at the air, and his legs began to jerk and spasm.

Then through the darkness Ron felt something being shoved roughly down his throat. It hurt like buggery, but once it passed his throat eased up a bit and his eyes felt limp and securely in his sockets once more. He was still in the dark, however. He didn't even know if his eyes were open or closed, but his body felt more relaxed even he was still in pain from the spasms.

He could hear Slughorn and Harry shouting. Then Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were there, both yelling at people to get out of the way, but he couldn't see or feel them next to him. It seemed like they were a million miles away, as if he were in a dark room and they were talking to him on a felly tone, he thought.

He assumed he'd been taken to the Hospital Wing, as he heard the shushing of curtains, and felt the dull pressure of someone removing his robes and undershirt and rubbing ointment on his chest. He could hear the noise of crisp bedsheets and knew that Madam Pomfrey was bundling him into bed, so he waited, as patiently as he could for something positive to happen, but soon even the voices and vague sensations began to drift away from him.

He wondered if he was falling asleep, or if this was what 'limbo' was like.

Perhaps he was dying.

Just my luck to die on my fucking birthday, he thought grimly.

The muffled voices became a bit clearer for a while, though he still could not see. He heard his sister crying and his Mum trying to coax him into wakefulness.

"Mum! I'm here!" He yelled to her, but she didn't seem to hear him.

He continued yelling at her until it was clear that no one could hear him at all.

He tried to relax, endeavoring not to give in to the panic of forced isolation. It was as if he could see himself when he tried looking at his hands. They were pale and freckled as they had always been, even in the dark he could see them. He felt as if he were naked in a dark room, except there was no floor. He was just sort of floating around in a fetal position. Alone and frightened.

He heard Fred and George after a while, but their voices were more muffled than his mother had been, he couldn't even tell what they were talking about.

"Let me out!" he yelled, his voice breaking, but Fred and George did not answer him, and soon he could hardly hear them anymore.

He was left with his own thoughts for some time. They circled him like hungry wolves waiting to devour him in despair. He tried hard to think of funny things to pass the hours, like the time that Malfoy had been turned into a ferret; seeing Dobby in his millions of elf hats; Hermione sporting a black eye and surprised expression; the one and only time Fred and George had fought. They had pitted themselves against each other and they had both ended up in St. Mungo's with a record number of injuries resulting from different curses each. But the amusing thoughts grew thinner and more elusive until he could not remember anything funny ever happening in his life. The darkness just sucked it all from him like a Dementor, leaving him cold. He was naked and alone with his dark thoughts.

After a period of just floating in the abyss of his mind he heard something familiar. Something sweet, yet quavering. A voice. A beautiful voice that he knew so well. It started out vague and muffled and became clearer and clearer until he heard:

"...would have known there was a good chance he'd keep something that tasty for himself."

It was Hermione, he just knew it was. Her voice was like a bright light in the darkness, her voice becoming a rope of gold which he clung to with both hands. He yelled back at her, hoping that she would hear him and pull him up.

"Hermione! I'm here! Please help me!"

But silence fell suddenly on his ears and the rope faded. His exertion had been immense, and he slowly faded out of consciousness altogether.

He dreamt of the time when he was small and his mother had taken him and Ginny to visit a friend of hers. He would have been all of about seven. The witch, whose name he could not remember, owned a small dog called Ping. It had a squashed face, a lot of hair that swept the floor, and a very excitable nature. He remembered being constantly told not to play rough and tumbles with the dog by both his mother and the witch, but being a boy of seven, he had pretended that he had not heard their entreaties and had played with little Ping anyway. They rolled around on the floor with her and played tug of war with the sleeve of his Weasley jersey.

And then he could remember them yelling at him, his Mum and the witch. They were so angry, and he was forbidden from playing with the dog ever again.

He awoke with a start – at least he thought he was awake. After being in the dark void it was hard to tell after being in the dark void whether it was nighttime, or if he were still trapped inside his mind. He stared above him and thought he could make out the ceiling of the hospital wing, and realized that it wasn't really dark, just very softly lit. His arms still refused to obey him however, and his legs followed their example. His eyelids felt as if they were weighted by giant bludgers, and he resigned to their closure once more.

"Crap," he said, but no sound came out, though he thought he felt his mouth move.

He couldn't move his head either, so he conceded to himself to listening for any sign that he was not alone. He needed company. His stint in the void had really shaken him, and not being able to move was very disconcerting.

He had just established that there was no one in the room when he heard the click of the door. He assumed it would be Madam Pomfrey coming to check on him, but no one fussed over him or wiped the sweat off his forehead in a businesslike manner.

Yet someone very quiet had snuck in and had sat in the chair next to his bed. He couldn't have seen them with his poor peripheral vision anyway, so he waited, knowing his voice would be no good. He knew who it was before they even spoke. The telltale smell of citrus and ink had taken a hold of his senses. The scent, he noted, was present at his first potions class of the year, though it had been mixed then with the familiar hints of grass, chocolate and wool.

"Ron? Can you hear me?" whispered a timid voice.

It was Hermione.

Why is she here in the middle of the night to talk to an oaf like me? Bloody hell, I hope my eyes are properly back in their sockets, Ron thought. I don't need any more help looking like a tall lanky idiot.

"Ron? Can you hear me?" She sniffed, brushing his scruffy fringe out of his face gently.

"Hermione, I'm okay – please don't cry," he shouted, his heart aching at her tears, but nothing came out.

He tried to waggle his eyebrows and grab her attention with his eyes, but his eyebrows were out of commission and his eyes wouldn't open enough to catch her glance.

"I'm so sorry about what happened. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you," she added.

I'm not, he thought. In fact I'm glad you didn't get to see me drooling all over myself and having spasms.

"I've read," she continued in a voice that only he could hear, "that people who are in comas can hear everything. I couldn't sleep thinking about you being here all alone, so I came."

She really is amazing, he thought. It was like she knew that I was trapped and alone.

"So I bought something to read to you," she said.

He grinned inwardly.

"Sorry it's not about Quidditch, I was going to go borrow something from Harry until I realized it was three AM," she added.

His heart felt as if it were at bursting point. She was here in the hospital wing to read to Ron-the-Pekingese-Boy at three AM? And all this after how mean he'd been to her! He'd ditch that Lavender as soon as he got out of here, he thought resolutely.

"It's by a Muggle writer, and it's something I've always wanted to read. I ordered it, and my parents finally sent it to me this morning. It's called a "Brief History of Time," and it's by the world's smartest man," she spieled.

He grinned again – the world's smartest girl reading a book by the world's smartest man to the world's least deserving, yet luckiest boy.

She began to read. It was difficult to understand anything in this book, right from the off. She spoke in a clear whisper and though the content was totally over his head, he found her voice soothing. Not only that, but it was a special voice. One that he'd imagined as he lay in his four poster alone at night. A whisper reserved just for him, he hoped.

He drifted into sleep again.

When he awoke it was still nighttime, and Hermione was still reading. Something about density and Black Holes, whatever they were. He felt a lot more like himself this time. He was now aware of his body, though moving was still difficult. He could feel the stuffy air of the Hospital Wing, the crisp sheet against his naked chest. And a warm hand clasped on top of his own.

Hermione's hand.

He moved his head towards her with a bit of effort and grinned.

She jumped in her seat, and flung her arms around him.

"Oh Ron! I was so worried. I'm so glad you're back," she sobbed.

And he was joyful for every tear he could feel racing from her cheek down his neck and pooling in the dip of his collarbone. He tried to move his hands to hug her, but they wouldn't budge.

"Shit," he said, though this time, he heard it. Hermione did too and jumped back, blushing.

"Sorry," she said, clearly embarrassed by her smothering hug.

"Not that," he said weakly. "Still can't use my arms. Didn't mean to scare you. I've been yelling and talking all day and no one's heard me. I felt bloody useless," he explained.

"Oh, right." She paused while she sat down and held his hand again, and then asked, "Could you hear me?"

He was very greatful for the contact. "Yes, I could hear _you_ alright. Not really anyone else though," he could feel his ears blushing, but was too happy about registering the sensation than feeling embarrassed at himself.

She smiled back at him and blushed, trying not to meet his eyes.

"Oh god!" he gasped, thinking of what had happened to the dog of his memories, "Hermione, are my eyes...y'know, okay?"

"They're fine, Ron, as always," she replied with a puzzled look on her face.

"Thank Merlin – I thought I was going to be a freak..." he trailed off.

"Madam Pomfrey knows what she's doing, Ron," said Hermione firmly. "She said by morning you should be able to move again and everything."

"Good. This has been hell," he exhaled, relieved. "Hermione, thanks for keeping me company. I really mean it... Thanks." He realized how serious and desperate he sounded, so added lightly, "Just next time, choose a book that's in English would you?"

She laughed, and his heart felt light and the memory of the darkness melted away.

"I mean, what was that about it being easier to drop things in the dark than in the light?"

She giggled again.

"And "A Brief History of Time?" Even the title doesn't make sense!"

She slapped him on the arm playfully, and he was overjoyed to feel it.

"You're amazing, Hermione," he heard himself say before his brain could catch up.

Hermione blushed again, fussing over the cover of her book whose spine was already crinkled from her thorough reading. "Well, you'd do the same for me. Wouldn't you?" She said looking back up at him.

"Of course I would, Hermione," Ron smiled warmly. And he meant it. That blush on her cheeks was causing hot butterflies to fly about in his stomach, and all of a sudden he knew why.

"I'm really sorry, you know," he began.

"What for, Ron?" Hermione asked.

"For being such a prat. I realized at Christmas how much I missed talking with you, but it wasn't until this," he tipped his head towards his sheets, "that I knew that I needed you here by me." He inwardly winced at how much ammunition he might be giving to her for use in the future, but persevered.

"When I got here to the Hospital Wing I couldn't see or hear anything," he explained. "It was like I was somewhere else."

Hermione nodded in understanding. No doubt she'd read about combos, or whatever she'd called it.

"And I could hear Mum a bit, and I heard Ginny crying too, but they seemed so far away from me. I heard Fred and George a bit later talking, but they were even further away and I couldn't even understand what they were saying."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione whispered. "You must have been so frightened!"

"Well," he admitted, "I was. Until I heard your voice, Hermione. You sounded like you were right next to me. I yelled for you to help me, but you didn't. And then you were silent."

She was still listening intently but tears were flooding her cheeks again.

"Please don't cry, Hermione. It's alright. Because after I heard your voice, I knew I'd be ok."

"I heard you, Ron," she sniffed.

"And then – What?"

"I thought I heard you say my name, but you were kind of mumbling, so it could've been anything."

He was floored. All he managed was a weak, "Oh."

Then, "Did you hear me call for anyone else?"

"No," she said, looking him in the eyes.

"Then you see what I'm trying to tell you? You're the only person I could hear, and you're the person I wanted most to hear me. So...I'm sorry," he ended awkwardly.

She laughed then, wiping the tears from her face.

"What?" said Ron harshly, alarmed that she might think him ludicrous for giving so much of himself.

"Ron, you don't need to apologize. I don't care that we weren't speaking, or that you're going out with bloody Lavender Brown! You nearly died! I nearly lost you!"

"Hermione – you swore," whispered Ron in awe.

"Hmmm. Maybe I _should_ stop talking to you. I seem to be picking up some of your bad speaking habits," she grinned.

Ron laughed. It was so wonderful to see her smiling and joking around with him, like nothing had happened. And then it hit him, where _was_ Lavender Brown. In his desperation for Hermione he'd forgotten all about her.

His face obviously looked a little puzzled, as Hermione called him on it.

"What? Are you feeling ok? You look a bit pale."

"As opposed to my usual golden tan, you mean?" He smiled, and she giggled. "I'd forgotten all about Lavender, to be honest. I certainly didn't hear _her_."

Hermione's giggle stopped immediately and she looked, what was it, amused? Smug?

"Well, actually she was annoyed with you for most of the day. No one told her that you'd been poisoned. She thought that you were snubbing her or something," she looked quite satisfied at informing him of this, but then she lapsed into embarrassment. "When she found out later tonight she was very upset though."

Ron laughed, "Well, I hate to see what my birthday present will be then if she was happy with me at Christmas..." He trailed off. "But it's not my birthday anymore, is it? So much for the big seventeen, eh?"

"Well, you can still open your presents. Your family left them here for you to open when you woke up," said Hermione, though she looked a bit downcast. "I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't get you anything.

Ron laughed again. "Hermione, you being here in the middle of the night with me is the best present I could ever have."

Hermione beamed back at him, her cheeks adorably flushed, and he knew his own ears were glowing.

They spent until six o'clock talking about anything and everything, at which time she pointed out that his hand was under his chin propping him up, whilst his other hand was firmly holding onto hers. He let go of her hand at once, feeling suddenly very shy and knew he was blushing profusely, even though he realized now that he'd been holding her hand for the last hour or so. She looked flushed as well, as she made to exit the Hospital Wing to get ready for the day ahead.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Ron," she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and moving toward the door. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Thanks," he said in a broken voice. It was a poor substitute for all the things he had bottled inside that he really wanted to say to her. He settled back in the bed and waited for Madam Pomfrey to arrive.

It was so nice to be friends again, without stupid Lavender and that McLaggen git hanging around. It was just Hermione and Ron, and he just loved her. **It**, he corrected himself. He loved **it**. Being together with her.

_First up, a major thanks to Druid for doing such a grand job putting my sentences back in order, and fixing my random punctuation. Cheers, mate!_

_Second, thanks to my muse, Alex. _

_Now...two points each for guessing a) who's said to be the world's smartest man? (You don't get bonus points for saying _I'm_ the smartest man lol so don't try it! I'm just smart enough to know the truth on that score!)_

_b) who is the wonderful comedian I allude to?_

_& c) who is the great author who used the magic phrase 'naked in the dark' ?_

_Thanks for reading...reviews and mail appreciated. I am thinking of trying my hand at Hermione's side of this story. Would anyone be interested in that?_

_**Cheers**_

_**Howl at your service. **_


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